


Unfortunate incident.

by Madame_V



Series: A Series Of Alternate Universe & Cannon Incidents. [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Holmes being Holmes, Hurt/Comfort, Lestrade Whump, M/M, Mycroft trying to act cool, caring is not an advantage my ass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 06:50:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5238536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madame_V/pseuds/Madame_V
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>London would burn. The crime rates would rise. NSY would come down, crashing around them. World economy would suffer. Anthea wouldn't handle the disaster. John would lose a friend. Sherlock would lose a brother. Mycroft would lose his sanity. All of this, if Greg dared to be stupid enough to pass away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfortunate incident.

**Author's Note:**

> Hola, bellezas! (wiggles eyebrows) Here's another multichapter from me to you, my loves. I'm enjoying writing this a whole lot, you know how I feel about these coming together fics, they sail my ship and I have a few things in store for this one too (Evil grin). How fun!
> 
> Anyway, I'll try not to make it too long and I really hope you guys like it. I've revised it a dozen times, but still haven't found a native english speaking Beta, please be patient with me. Remember tha comments KEEP MY DREADFUL HUNGER FOR FANGIRL BLOOD AT BAY, just kidding, but it does fuel imagination (rainbows) and help me know how I did in spite of the ever present language barrier. Feedback's always appreciated.
> 
> I'll recommend to put a song that particularly tears at your heart strings for full effect, something acoustic and sad will fit nicely. Ed Sheeran's 'I see fire' and Lukas Graham's '7 years' accompanied me through it. If you're interested, put them on your playlist now!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and on to the fic! :D

He fell heavily, against the wall thinking, ‘Well, so much for this.’ Lifting a hand from his abdomen to see it covered in warm blood, he felt so fucking tired. It all went dark before John could reach his side, screaming “Sherlock, Greg’s been shot!” as he kneeled. John's voice sounded as if they were underwater, resounded deeply with the sirens, so far from them.

Sherlock’s hurried steps ran past them, crunching over damp asphalt and debris. The consulting detective screamed something Greg couldn't quite catch in a fury. Last thing he felt was sharp pain over the side of his belly.

-

“It can’t be so bad, Greg” said his mum, softly caressing his head “My brave boy. You’re so tenacious, love. You’ll get through this.”

He woke up sighing as brown eyes met their equal. Greg found himself looking up into his mother’s face with a sided smile “Hello, mum.” It felt as though they had never parted, “I’m bloody knackered.”

She fretted around his clothes, dusting his shoulders, “Language, young man. Mind your manners when you’re talking to me.”

Greg chuckled and got up, wincing, expecting pain that never came. His back felt as if it was in one piece, even if he had stayed up all night. His headache had eased away and his abdomen was anew. It was work of magic.

The light in his childhood’s home living room was dim, but he could see his mum’s pale features clashing with her salt and pepper hair and bright smirk, that reached her eyes. He smiled back and saw her eyes were shining, “Oh, love. I've wanted to hug you,” she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him towards her.

“Christ, mum. One might say you haven’t seen me in your life.” He chuckled and held her back “Where’s Trish?” he asked, looking around for his younger sister.

Lauren sniffled and got up, walking to the kitchen; Greg followed, “She’s still in Scotland, taking care of her family. I hear she got a promotion at her job, she works too hard. I know her husband makes sure she rests and takes care of herself, but could you keep an eye on her as well?” the old woman busied herself making tea.

In the ceiling he found the stickers his sister and himself used to put up there so their mum didn’t clean them away. Greg found an old Snoopy character smiling and dancing, looking down at him and he couldn't help but smile back, “I thought that this place was in the demolition plan of 96’. Trish and I tried to keep it up…” he couldn’t remember if they had managed or not.

“And here we are now. I think it's a nice nest we made for ourselves" she said with a pleasent expression about her features, then turned and followed his gaze, "I always loved looking at those… Your father always found them funny. So I just kept them well until your thirties, oh, you kids thought you were so sneaky, too!” her glassy dark eyes looked up at his with glee and she placed a hand on his, “Oh, Greg, you would’ve had such beautiful children.” She caressed the back of her son’s head and placed her head on his shoulder like she did when he was eighteen and struggling between a job and uni, holding him close, as if he was going to break under the pressure.

‘There we go’ he thought, refraining from rolling his eyes “What a coincidence. I always thought you’d have beautiful children, and you did!”

Smiling in spite of her, she patted his arm, chiding him “Oh, Greg.” The man in question looked at her still smirking merrily. Lauren poured coffee in two mugs and sprinkled cinnamon on them, “I never liked that woman, it was a matter of time until she mucked up…” she said, turning to hand him his mug. Then she casually laid her hip on the rim of the counter, taking a sip of her coffee, doing her best to calm her nerves. It was true that she had never been fond of Greg’s now ex-wife and she seemed to suffer through their wedding and first years of marriage. Taking a distance instead of being a part of their little family. She thought she kept the looks of foreboding to herself, but Greg witnessed her grief on occasion. Still her features returned from bitterness into her usual playfulness, “But I’m very fond of that man you fancy these days.”

Greg blinked and frowned, losing his smile slowly, as his mind went blank, “What man, mum?” he asked, testing the grounds.

“Oh, you know, the posh rupert. The one with that brother that gets you in trouble. Bit of a toff, but he’s always taken good care of you, even if you haven’t even properly dated him. I can feel his worry all the way from here, I swear, my goodness.” Lauren shook her head, quietly commenting on the man’s best treats.

It all left Greg gaping slightly. He ran the possibilities, men he had looked at in the past and one name consistently appeared, ‘Mycroft?’, ‘How do you know?’, instead of overloading her with pointless questions, he took his own mug from the counter and took a sip of his own mug.

Lauren had been a nurse, so she was used to strong drinks just as her son and daughter. A single mother of two, after losing her husband and soldiering on through trials and tribulations that life put in her way, dealing with them in style. And for being that cool mum his friends envied, that protective parent they needed and that reassuring smile after a bad day, Greg admired her.

And, as always, mum knew best, Greg snorted “You don't know him, mum. He's not the kind to go after my types... We do make a good team on some aspects, but that's about it.” he looked into his mug as the cinnamon danced and let out puffs of delicious smell.

“Oh, Greg, you’re still as handsome and charming as you were when you were sixteen years-old, love. You just have to show him a bit of that Lestrade charm. It definitely worked on me when your father used it.” She looked at the window reminiscing of those good old days, when his father was still his scintillating self, before illness took over.

Feeling a bit dejected over the stale and grim subjects surrounding him he said “Mum, I'm not dating Mycroft Holmes, nobody is ever dating him, in fact.” snorted out a laugh, as if the idea itself was absolutely ridiculous and took another sip of his coffee. One thing was distant esteem and appreciation, another was to just come out and ask him to date.

She sighed dramatically, making Greg turn and look at her as she placed a hand on her chin “Oh, dear me, here I was waiting for an eternity until my son finally found someone worthy, allowed himself fall in love at last. And once he does-”

That alone was enough to make Greg choke on the beverage, the man coughed and felt his mother giggling and patting his back “Woah” he coughed a bit more, feeling his eyes tear up “Ah, Christ, mum! In love? Are you mad?” he laughed heartily “I look at the bloke, he's handsome. That’s all.” Lauren's eyes twinkled as she smiled at him and needless to say what she was thinking “Not even joking, mum.“ his tone was firm, but there was something in his eyes betraying his words and his mother saw through it.

“Oh, you've done much worse.” she said looking down at her mug innocently and savoring the wince that came in response at her next phrase “Remember Kevin?”

The Detective Inspector groaned loudly and covered his eyes feeling a blush rise “Dear God, I thought we promised to never speak of that again.” Kevin had clearly been a one-time mistake that for some reason had an extended visa and stayed around for almost three months.

Mrs. Lestrade hummed and placed her mug on her lips, downing her coffee and turning to leave her mug on the sink “Mycroft is so much better than any of your previous partners. I just don't want to see you all on your own, love.”

“I’m fine on my own, mum” he didn’t dare looking up from his shoes. And felt incredibly sad for a second, as if this conversation was something they owed each other for a long time. As if their time together was like sand escaping between their fingers.

“This is my fault. I always regretted letting you see my grief.” The woman sighed softly, looking at the window again “You were so young and I couldn’t bring myself to stop mourning your father… But it doesn’t mean that love always hurts and ends up tragically. Most might not know why you just let go of your marriage amicably" she raised his chin in her fingers and said "But I know, love… It’s never too late to believe in love, Greg…” she took his chin between index and thumb, turning his face towards her “And it’s not bad remembering your father or me. It’s fine to feel bad and no matter what, you have your sister with you… Even at distance.”

Dedicating her a sad, broken smile he desperately attempted to cover up with void humor “Mum, can you imagine what hell my life would turn into if I dated James Bond? Multiply it by a hundred and toss fits on how my socks are on the floor at it. That would be my life with Mycroft Holmes as a boyfriend.” said Greg, vaguely amused at the scene where Mycroft would be terribly annoyed at his disorderly behavior. How adorable it would be to see him cleaning the dishes as Greg cooks and putting the bed together in the mornings. How he'd complain about his torn and battered field suits. How it probably wouldn't matter much if in this world Mycroft wanted him the way he is. Socks, suits, cuddling in late mornings, snoozing the alarm for five more minutes and football on Sunday afternoons.

Lauren's voice broke the fantasy as she followed his joke, making a tear escape from the corner of his eye “May I remind you that Mr. Bond is one sassy partner and a devilish master seducer, love” she wiggled her eyebrows, just as Greg looked down chasing the tears away and he laughed heartily. Still, for some reason, the loving, stubborn woman was breaking his heart.

“Now that's a funny thought, can’t see a serious bloke like that in a yacht, surrounded by gorgeous women” he stated with a wide smile “But cheers on your creativity” he lifted his mug and lightly touched hers as he left it in the sink beside hers. Both cups colorful, close and still warm from the beverages. For some reason Greg couldn’t stop looking, feeling that he was living in a rather elaborate déjà vu.

“Oh, love, he's more than you'd think, you know better than being assuming people are a certain way, don't you, son?” she said looking up and suddenly the light started coming through the windows. It looked too bright and felt frightening. Greg looked up at it and Lauren covered his eyes, pulling him away from it “Come on, love. You have to lay down.” the woman pulled Greg urgently and the door slammed open.

His father, eyes clear blue and dark hair came in “Take him to the living room.”

A breath he didn't know he was holding escaped him and he managed to say 'Wha-?' when the entire house shook and the mugs dropped to the ground as the sink disappeared leaving a hole in its place.

It all came back to him violently, making him screw his eyes shut. He remembered the men that were trying to run off with a mesopotamian reliquary, valued in no more than fifty-five million pounds. They had turned and the shot resounded, hitting him before he could duck and cover.

Greg screamed in pain, looking down at his abdomen, seeing blood seep out of him in a river and pressing a hand to make it stop “Pain is good, Greg.” Said Mr. Lestrade’s voice “You have to go back.” He said patting his shoulder and Greg couldn’t look up at his face.

“Be careful when you're there, we love you” was all Lauren managed in a distant murmur.

The house fell down around them. Crashing sounds and he felt dread as if they were still alive. How could he forget of lying beside his father on the hospital bed as he was slowly consumed by his illness? How could he forget of his mum’s features when she recovered from that first heart attack? Now he worried about them dying again. And when Greg started wondering if he was dead himself, his father said “He'll recover, Mr. Holmes.” into the vast void it left behind, where once was their family home.

That was the last he knew of that mad dream.

-

The light was blinding and he felt too sore to exist; taking a few deep breaths, Greg felt his throat closed by tubes. Panicking slightly, wondering what was the unfamiliar feeling he felt a cool hand on his forehead and focusing on that, slowly calming as a deep voice spoke in a language he couldn’t possibly comprehend, he sighed and fell back into a deep sleep that lasted a blink. At least for him, he briefly went to a quiet place where he lost consciousness and entered a state of peaceful, white nothingness.

Only a few moments later, he opened his eyes slowly. Blurry images from the outside world started getting to him as he quietly looked ahead and around. Deciding to close them again and rest for a bit.

He tried to move his fingers and didn’t find the strength to do it. His brain kicked up a few gears and his first thoughts came to Greg, 'Think of The Bride. Start with the fingers.' he thought and it was bloody impossible 'Damn you, Tarantino. You sodding liar.' he cursed inwardly and opened his eyes, his sight still completely hazy.

It started adjusting slowly, the more he insisted in looking at the shadows around him. He managed to identify John fast asleep on a sofa under the window and Sherlock sitting, legs crossed on a chair next to him, his face reflecting the light from his phone as he rapidly passed through pages.

'Must be the evening', he thought looking at the window and the clouded, darkened skies outside.

“Boss!” someone whispered urgently and it made Greg wince, feeling his raspy throat through a grunt. Slowly turning to his left, he saw Mycroft getting up from a hospital chair next to the bed and pressing a button. He looked as pristine and untouchable as ever as he checked on him, pale eyes looking down into his. First thing he noticed was how indecently good the other man looked with his shirt sleeves rolled up, “Welcome back, Mr. Lestrade” he said looking unfazed “The nurse should be on her way. Bring water, Anthea.” He ordered softly.

The heels clicked away as he blinked groggily and groaned slightly trying to move, he felt the ghost of a touch on his chest as Mycroft rearranged the covers and pushed him dow onto the bed. Firmly, yet carefully.

“You deserved to die, if I’m honest.” Said Sherlock from his chair, glaring at his phone’s screen as John sighed and sat up rubbing his eyes saying ‘Sherlock’ warning him to stop being a prick, as he always did and Greg tried to speak, but then decided to opt for flipping the diplomatic middle finger at him.

John giggled and commented “Can’t believe you have the strength to argue, mate.” Sherlock simply shot a strange look at him, between resentful and amused.

Soon enough, Anthea came back with a straw and a bottle of water, as well as a nurse that started revising him ‘Ever so efficient this girl’, he thought. The woman placed the straw between his lips. He took small sips and closed his eyes as the soreness in his throat started waning to a dull sting.

The needles started coming out of his arm and the girl said, “You’re a lucky one, Mr. Lestrade. Got away with this one.”

Sighing he swallowed in bliss and opened his eyes lazily once more, turning to look at the nurse, “Define lucky.” He said, pressing a hand to his face as he heard his voice come out as weak as he felt.

Mycroft let out a quiet sigh of relief. Then frowned at him and looked at the small nurse, standing to his full height, sporting his best I-could-have-you-fired-deported-and-killed attitude, “State?” he asked briskly.

“Alive and drifting, you?” he answered as quickly as he could, smiling weakly at the civil servant. Far from amused, the rust haired man pursed his lips, a tad disquiet and the woman giggled lightly as she checked the needles and equipment.

The nurse smiled and looked around at the people staring at her avidly as she walked around the policeman’s bed, “The doctor will be here in a few moments and you can ask him personally, yeah?”

Sherlock opened his mouth glaring at the nurse and at unison Greg and John said ‘Put a sock in it, Sherlock’ and ‘Don’t you dare, Sherlock’ making him snap his mouth shut and mumble angrily through his teeth. Mycroft’s jaw was set, but it was obvious he would also eat her alive if he had the chance. ‘The Holmes brothers for you’, thought Greg pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to hold back the dizziness.

Pursing her lips, the nurse retreated to the door, moving carefully around a trained soldier, two MI6 agents and a mad genius. Not looking at them as she spoke, “Don’t you worry, everything looks normal so far and he might feel a bit tired because of the residual effect of the cocktail we gave him.” She dedicated Greg a reassuring smile “You’ll be fine.” He gave her a small smirk and she beamed slightly, before disappearing out the door.

He glared at Sherlock as he winced trying to move a pillow around, but Mycroft was there again. Pulling it out and placing it under his head, “It appears everything’s normal in her observations. They didn’t get you off the morphine, so you’ll still have a fun ride for a few days. But I’m sure your doctor will recommend you to stay for further observations. Perhaps a day or two.” Said John looking at the chart at the foot of his bed and moving around the bed to check the I.V.

Meanwhile Mycroft looked at Sherlock, the taller man looked at him with the same intensity. They both turned to him and Greg barely managed to look from one to another, before they returned to look at each other, Mycroft changed his weight from one foot to the other and Sherlock looked at the floor grumbling and nodding.

“Well, at least I get to keep the drugs. If you manage to smuggle coffee in, I can definitely cope with this.” Greg joked lightly, clearing his throat.

“You do not deserve any treats,” Sherlock sniffled angrily, “Not after that ghastly behavior. Even Mycroft ran to see you.”

The man in question scoffed, “Of course I would, Sherlock, considering he’s the only reason you haven’t found an early death. Imagine that you would be left under my tutelage if he were to perish, neither of us wishes that, do we?” Sherlock grimaced in disgust in response “And if we are to point fingers, Inspector Lestrade should know you spent an evening in jail after beating the man who shot him to near death.” The man sat again with a small, devious smirk dedicated at his fuming younger brother.

Sherlock glared viciously, “Don’t you have an important meeting to attend to, or someplace else to haunt? I’m sure Babylon-on-Thames must be having a ball over your sudden absence. Shouldn’t you hurry and ruin someone else’s day with your somber presence?” Mycroft stayed pointedly put as he sighed tiredly muttering ‘Juvenile of you, Sherlock.’

“Well, isn’t it nice to be back?” asked John with a terminal tone, warning behind his humorous question.

The DI started feeling more like himself and hummed trying to pacify the atmosphere “By the way, how long was it?”

The older Holmes brother rolled his eyes and passed a pile of documents to his PA “Thank you, dear. You were convalescing for three days now, Inspector, and I recommend that you keep quiet and sleep if you wish a soon recovery.” He sighed as his phone started ringing loudly; he picked up speaking in Spanish.

Anthea pushed a strand of jet black hair away from her face “Will that be all, sir?” She asked giving her boss a hard look as he took an extra second to nod, before he briefly excused himself out.

She turned to Greg with a warmer smile upon her cool features and said “You look in fine form, sir. I hope you recover soon.”

Snorting out a soft chuckle “So these two don’t drive you mad?” he asked.

“Well, since you put it that way…” commented John while Sherlock huffed at the noise and frantically typed on his phone.

“And for your own sake, I’m not sure I want to see them as worried as they were again.” The stoic agent looked at the Holmes left in the room.

“That bad, then?” he asked casually, dreading the answer.

The young woman looked down and John sighed before saying “You were dead for two full minutes and there were dire warnings of you returning in a different form due to the blood loss… I would say it was quite bad, mate. You’ll have to take it easy for a month or two.”

Exhaling and closing his eyes, he just whispered “Damn.”

“Rest, Greg.” Insisted the woman, eyes returning to her phone and looking up at him one last time, placing her warm hand on his “I’ll see you later, sir.” And with a small, enigmatic smile she walked to the door, hands still full of important looking documents.

He turned to see Mycroft leave way for her to exit as he reentered the room and sat back on the chair “I have arranged things so your doctor and surgeon may see you first as soon as they start their rounds.”

Letting out a long, suffering sigh, the wounded man shifted slightly feeling his stitches itch and sting, “Come on, you said it. I’m convalescing, give me a bloody break. I don’t want to see more doctors.” John rolled his eyes.

“You shouldn’t have put yourself in such a dangerous position if you didn’t wish for this sort of attention. Think of this moment the next time…” chided Mycroft in his usual light tones as he focused on another stack of papers laying on his lap, poised and immovable from his side, deep apprehension worrying his brow.

“I have to give it to him. That happens to be the most idiotic thing I have ever witnessed him do.” Sherlock commented quietly, eyes still fixed on his phone, “And I work with him on weekly basis.”

“Oh, sod off, I don’t have to remind you of the stupid situations I’ve had to get you out of,” said Greg trying to cross his arms over his chest, but desisting upon the pain it caused. He placed his hands on his stomach and said “Can you stop updating your twitter when you insult me at least? Who are you harassing?” he asked looking at Sherlock’s fingers fly over the touch screen.

The Consulting Detective gave him a dirty look and he heard Mycroft let out a breath of laughter.

“Translation:” John stated loudly “You worried us quite a lot, mate. We’re very glad you’re alright.” He said looking at him with a small smile.

“Heartwarming, really” The silver haired man shook his head lightly and reached for the water bottle, Mycroft reached it before he did and handed it out “Ta.”

“Regardless of my experiences, the fact remains that you ran after an armed suspect and did not wait for the armed party in the group. You are an absolute idiot and I am here simply to tell you that in person.” Sherlock upturned the lapels of his belstaff.

The more the young man spoke, ever so posh, tall and dramatic, the more Greg wanted to hug him and punch him, in that order “You little spod. See if you can get cases from me after this.”

John placed his hands up with a slightly panicked look and said “Leave it there, boys. You don’t want the soldier with PTSD to go crazy.”

The Consulting Detective snorted, “He doesn’t mean it, John. I will never need to worry that you lose your peasant sense of humor, at least.”

“Not a chance, love.” He smiled at the drama-queen, the man’s eyes returned to the screen and he took long strides to the door leaving swiftly, “If you’ll be going to come back, bring me doughnuts to pass the visit!” he screamed after, and John chuckled.

“You do not deserve treats!” was all Sherlock screamed back.

Greg moaned “Oh, come on! It’s vital for my recovery!” there came no answer and he settled down with a small smile.

“He’s probably going to the morgue,” he explained and sighed “Sorry, about that. Promise not to bring him back until you’ve recovered a bit more energy.”

Greg’s eyes turned to Mycroft briefly and he saw the man reading a stack of papers sitting on his lap. He looked as if he had been working from that spot the entire afternoon, “Sure, at least they didn’t unleash the Third World War in here.” Mycroft sighed and continued to read, ignoring them completely.

“How are you feeling? More importantly, what were you thinking?” asked John deep blue eyes trained on him with clinical worry, he could feel a similar set burning holes on the back of his head for a few moments, until they eased away.

Greg sighed tiredly, feeling sleep starting to claim him slowly, “I’m feeling surprisingly great, must be the drugs.” He clearly avoided the subject on what he was thinking entirely. At the moment he thought that he could close their path from the other side and the Consulting Detective could get to them the parallel street once they exited the alley. Of course he didn’t count on them holding a gun.

The blonde snorted as he searched for his wallet in “Well, then you won’t mind to hear Arsenal lost the classic match last Sunday.”

“Well, don’t you know how to improve a man’s day…” grumbling through the drowsiness that settled once again.

He heard John’s laugh “See why rugby’s my treat? Just follow your doctors’ instructions and you’ll be up on your feet before you know it-” his phone was suddenly swarmed by texts and as he looked, he smiled fondly “That’s my cue out. Plenty of rest and water.”

“I certainly won’t be having trouble in following your orders, Doctor Watson.” He sighed and opened his eyes again, taking John’s hand in a firm shake, “I could probably sleep for the rest of the year.”

“We’ll come ‘round when Sherlock’s calmer, yeah?” the doctor put his jacket on and walked to the exit, “Mycroft.” He saluted cordially and walked away as the older Holmes nodded back at him.

The room fell silent and Greg sighed tiredly, Mycroft shifted in his seat and pulled out his phone typing on it, slowly and frowning. Greg smiled a bit to himself, it was somewhat funny that the most powerful man in the world was far too lazy to manage a few texts. The replies came through quickly and the man sighed before placing the device on his breast pocket, before looking up at the amused DI, “Apologies. I was wondering if I should leave and let you rest now. I’m unsure if you’d prefer for me to stay until the doctor in charge is able to see you.” He asked looking down at his feet tiredly.

Mycroft’s posture spoke of ever present confidence and alertness, but he was dressed down and the way he took deep, slow breaths spoke of exhaustion and long days. The man looked similar to the way in which he found him that first time. Sitting quietly beside Sherlock, head in one hand and the other over his brother’s own.

Blinking slowly feeling as if he’d faint under a blanket of deep sleep, he chuckled and closed his eyes letting the smirk stay at the corners of his lips “Relax, Holmes. I can take care of myself from now on, yeah? Plus I don’t think I’m on my A-game to antagonize you more than this. If you’d like to take your leave, it’s fine.” Greg’s voice slowly relaxed into the caress of morphine.

The other man hummed lowly, staring at the side of his face, “Very well. At least I know you will be in the best of hands, your sister’s been picked up from the airport and it’s on her way over either way. You will have to forgive me, but I preferred to make sure you would be able to receive them. Hence I waited until you woke up.”

Swallowing as the lovely rust-haired man mentioned Patricia coming to see him, he groaned lightly and kept quiet for a few moments. 'So much for my much needed peace', he thought “’s fine. One way or another I won’t hear the end of it, now I can blame the tardy news on you at least.” He opened his eyes slightly and saw a small smirk form on Mycroft’s eyes, as he steeped his hands over his thin lips.

“I shan’t be able to visit you any longer if you do, not if your sister is around.” He commented sitting back, letting the smile reach his lips.

The DI chuckled and closed his eyes comfortably again “Definitely not.” An idea came to him and he said “Alright, I’ll take the blame if you bring me biscuits.” He offered looking at Mycroft as he stood up and straightened his sleeves, pulling the cufflinks from his pockets.

“I will not be easier to convince than my brother, you require a diet until you have fully recovered.” He said wearing a fond smile upon his features as his pale eyes looked for his jacket, he put his pocket watch in his waistcoat’s pocket, elegantly crossing the chain.

The DI’s eyes followed the movements, mesmerized in the precision “I’m somewhere between moved and creeped out that you even know I’ll have to follow a diet. Have you revised my PHR?” he managed to comment, shaking his head as a mad thought that begged him to place a hand over Mycroft’s waistcoat and chain.

He heard him hum through as he fought to keep his eyes open and watch Mycroft take his leave “I don’t need to bother to know how to recover from these type of wounds, Inspector” he swallowed thickly and thought ‘Blimey, if that isn’t a tad sexy.’ Mycroft’s shuffles came closer for a moment and Greg’s fingers twitched, too tired to hold onto the man like he wanted “Do not make us go through that again.” He said quietly and close ‘Damn, I can’t open my eyes.’

“I’ll certainly endeavor not to repeat it.” He managed to move his head back to the center of the pillow and smiled, mocking “Shame, though, seeing as I’ve enjoyed it so much.”

A chuckle left the other man “That is the Detective Inspector we were expecting to recover in all his sarcastic glory. A pleasure to have you back, Mr. Lestrade.”

Sighing he mumbled “’m sure it is.” And he stopped fighting sleep as a cool, steady hand returned to caress his forehead. Softly brushing away whatever thought remained and leading him into unconsciousness, easing away the pain and grief, reassuring the tired policeman. The simple action muttered the words Greg couldn't possibly listen.

**Author's Note:**

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